


Big Dick Turpin Energy

by Liquid_Lyrium



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Humor, I mean he is, Pegging, Prompt Fill, Sex Is Fun, Sexual Fantasy, Sexual Roleplay, but you have to read between the lines, implied bisexual Netwon Pulsifer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-21
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-18 04:41:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29603985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liquid_Lyrium/pseuds/Liquid_Lyrium
Summary: “Stand and deliver.”Anathema slowly paced around the side of their bed feeling ridiculous, but dashing in her costume. The wide-brimmed hat was particularly impressive. She’d picked out the plumage herself. She was also making a valiant attempt at a Kent accent.--Some soft, loving Anathema/Newt pegging.
Relationships: Anathema Device/Newton Pulsifer
Comments: 7
Kudos: 16





	Big Dick Turpin Energy

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written as part of the Name That Author round for rare-pairs only. Finally finished and expanded beyond the original 500 word limit!
> 
> ~~I 100% maintain that boning down with Newt more than once is a radial act of defiance on Anathema's part, even if she and Newt do not stay together in the long term, though I like to think they are well matched enough that they do pull together in the long haul bc they are willing to put in the work.~~

Lord Newton Pulsifer grabbed at the door to his coach. He could hear the slow approach of hoofsteps.

“Stand and deliver.”

_Anathema slowly paced around the side of their bed feeling ridiculous, but dashing in her costume. The wide-brimmed hat was particularly impressive. She’d picked out the plumage herself. She was also making a valiant attempt at a Kent accent._

“Oh my,” Lord Newton Pulsifer whispered. A blunderbuss tapped against the window to get his attention.

“Well, well, look at you, pretty thing,” there was a wicked smile below the mask, but it was a beautiful face. More beautiful than the wanted posters made out.

Lord Newton Pulsifer felt himself blush. No one had ever called him pretty before. He’d never gotten compliments at gunpoint either, but heat coiled around his belly nonetheless.

“You’re… You’re the Witchrider.” The highwayman fought back a laugh.

“That’s… me.”

_Anathema dissolved into laughter. Newt wilted a bit, squirming on the bed. “Oh! Honey, I’m sorry! I just… that’s going to be you, isn’t it?”_

_This coaxed out a reluctant smile from Newt. “That’s the idea, yeah.” Newt looked away again after a pause. “Look, if this is too silly for you, we can forget it. It was ridiculous—” A brim to the forehead and a pair of lips interrupted him rudely._

_“I’ll be better about it, promise. Go back to being scared and horny. It’s a nice look on you. Makes a lady want to rescue you from yourself.” Anathema winked beneath her mask and Newt gulped._

“You know what I’m after.”

“I haven’t got any money or jewels on me,” the lord said quickly. The Witchrider canted his head to one side.

“Now that’s not true, is it?” He grinned and those dark eyes flicked down between his legs. _Anathema sank her teeth into the finger of one of her gloves and ripped it off, hand sweaty._ Lord Newton Pulsifer made a noise. His knees slammed together, hand coming down to hide his privates. The Witchrider jumped easily off his horse and into the coach. A moment later the tip of the blunderbuss spread those knees once again. “Don’t be shy, love. I’ll wager you’ve never had the privilege of someone fighting for your virtue.”

“Men don’t have virtue,” he mumbled.

“But wouldn’t you like to?”

The question left Lord Newton Pulsifer breathless and hard. He couldn’t tear his gaze away from the bright, eager light shining in the depths of dark brown.The hardness of his cock curved against his breeches. The Witchrider licked his lips, eyes transfixed on his chest as he sat across the tiny space.

“I’ll wager, in fact, that you _want_ someone to plunder your virtue, you pretty thing. I’ll wager all.”

Lord Newton Pulsifer slowly started to unbutton his coat as if bewitched. Spellbound by his captor.

“There you are, pretty thing,” The Witchrider croaked _(accent slipping as she lubed up the strap on)_. The gun gestured in a sideways motion, and the coat quickly followed. The barrel traced him nethers to navel, “Those too.” The young lord got to his feet and started to shimmy out of his breeches, hands nervously petting the soft fabric covering his thighs first.

As he turned to present himself the Witchrider chided him. “Ah-ah, my pretty boy.” He levelled the gun at Newton’s chest, gesturing to his lap with his other hand. “ _Stand_ and deliver.”

“Oh.”

He swallowed audibly, looking for something behind the mask, perhaps mercy?

“Something wrong?” The Witchrider’s voice smouldered warmly.

Lord Newton Pulsifer shook his head. “N-no.” He swallowed thickly. “I’ve just… I’ve never done this before?” _It sounded like a question, but it was mostly true. They’d done this before, but not in this position. Not where Newt had to split himself open._

“How lucky for me,” The Witchrider set aside his gun, still within easy reach, and he grasped the Lord by his waist and thigh, leather gloves _(well, glove, at this point)_ rougher than anything the lord had ever worn in his life. Still, the feel of those fingertips beneath sent shameful, hot spikes of heat up through his gut. Hot, twisty, unbearable arousal. Lord Newton swallowed hard, his breath coming out in a heavy shake. Two sure hands guided him into place, and he could feel the tight ring of muscle in his arse clench in anticipation. “Are you looking forward to this?”

“Yes,” Newton whispered, feeling like he’d been flayed raw by the admission. But it felt good, too, to finally give voice to such a secret.

“And how long,” the Witchrider asked, with a hitch to his voice, “have you wanted to have your virtue plundered, pretty thing?” Lord Newton couldn’t answer right away, sucking in a breath as he felt the wide tip of the Witchrider’s cock teasing his entrance.

“A-ages,” he finally squeezed out from his lungs.

“Well,” a pink tongue swiped across ivory teeth, “don’t hold back on my account.”

_Newt placed his hands on her shoulders and, as he sank down on the pretty blue cock on the harness, he was so lost and enraptured Anathema no longer felt silly at all. He went slow, agonizingly so._

Lord Newton Pulsifer whimpered, choking on the sound as he stopped almost as soon as he breached himself on the hard shaft below him. He sank down a little lower, gravity pulling him down until he locked his skinny thighs in place again. He trembled, but the Witchrider held him firmly about the waist, and Newton squeezed the shoulders under his hands tight.

“That’s it,” the Witchrider breathed, “that’s it pretty thing. You’re almost there. You’ve almost taken all of me.”

Lord Pulsifer moaned like some scarlet woman his tutor had always warned him about. “I just… it’s so—” _It was overwhelming. They were well practiced at this, but they’d only done minimal preparation earlier, and that was… well… some time ago. Still, there was something incredibly heady about going for it like this. Newt felt a soothing hand sweep down his chest, and an unmistakable coo of affection._

_“Take as long as you need, baby. I’m not going anywhere.”_

Lord Pulsifer— _Newt_ —let out a strangled cry when he finally sank the last few inches. He felt stretched beyond belief, and it was mortifying and searing and wonderful in the most exquisite way. His mouth fell open, and suddenly the Witchrider’s neck was beneath his lips, beneath his teeth as he let out a halting moan.

Those gloves traced up the curve of his back, gentle and soothing. Completely at odds with the dark amusement and deep purr from the Witchrider. “My, my, are we trying to seduce your highwayman? What would people _say_ if they could see the great Lord Newton Pulsifer now?” His vision went slightly out of focus as the Witchrider’s voice tipped straight into his ear and down his spine. He was going to explode, just like this. Without even _thrusting_ and the thought caused that same white-hot lick of pleasure-shame to ignite in the pit of his belly. “Split open on some stranger, _commoner’s_ cock and _begging_ for it. Look at you, leaking and making a mess of my clothes.” _Admittedly, Anathema did not sound terribly upset about that._

“Yes,” Lord Pulsifer whined, his lips still artlessly, desperately pressing against the Witchrider’s neck. More for support than any actual intent to give pleasure, at the moment. “Yes I’m—”

“Shall I plunder you?” The Witchrider said, _anticipation and a waver in her voice._

“Please,” was all Lord Newton Pulsifer had to say before two hands came to grasp his hips. 

_\---_

_“Was that still alright?”_

_“Course it was alright. More than alright. Why would you ask that?”_

_Anathema shifted and wrapped her arms easily around his waist. They were a little too bony to fit together easily, and Newt could only think of what a privilege it was to be in a position to be this uncomfortable and sticky with another person. “Well,” she said digging her chin into Newt’s chest, as if she intended to carve out a nest for herself, “you seemed really put out when I refused to play Dick Turpin.”_

_Newt felt a blush crawl up his neck and right over his cheekbones. He was fairly certain it was taking up residence at the top of his scalp. “I just, look, that was the blueprint of this fantasy for—for years—long before I ever named the car, so I didn’t really think of the—the association.”_

_“I love you, I love that you don’t have a loan on it, but your car is kind of a piece of shit, and I say that lovingly as someone who has owned several piece of shit cars over the years.”_

_“Why?” Newt blinked owlishly. He knew Anathema’s family was well off. She’d bought Jasmine Cottage outright after… everything had happened. She had all kinds of ancient, weird occult instruments only found in museums. Good lord he’d seen the view from her childhood home when her mom FaceTimed last Tuesday! (Before the network had promptly crashed, anyway.)_

_“Mm? Oh. Agnes,” Anathema waved a hand vaguely, letting her eyes flutter closed. She let her fingertips skate along his chest. “There were… mm, incidents that depended on me being broken down on the side of the road a few times. And once I found a cursed ring in a previously owned vehicle.”_

_“A cursed—what sort of—”_

_“Not important, I’ll tell you another time,” Anathema said brusquely. “Anyway, try telling a sixteen year old girl she has to learn how to drive stick because her great great great great grandmother says she can’t have an automatic convertible, and has to drive the world’s most rusted-out 1955 DeSoto instead of a Maserati. God it was so fucking ugly to look at!”_

_“You couldn’t even pick your own car? Just… for fun?”_

_“Nope,” Anathema popped the ‘p’. To her credit, she didn’t sound bitter or angry. Just matter of fact. Perhaps a touch self-conscious._

_“Well…” Newton cleared his throat, “I’d say you excel at driving stick.”_

_Anathema’s lips gave way and she snorted out endearing and ugly laughter. “You fucking suck! I hate you so much right now!” And yet she squeezed his ribs a shade too hard. Newt dragged a hand over the small of her back._

_“You were saying something?”_

_“Huh? Oh. Right. So yes, even though I have owned my own shitty cars, yours is… well it’s certainly unique. But it also smells like vinyl—among other things—and while we’re on the subject, that air freshener has turned into a petrified tree.”_

_“It’s not that old!” Newton lied indignantly._

_“Newt that thing so, so ancient it could have sired an entire lineage of arboreal vampires. I cannot possibly get off if I have to think about the smell of your car.”_

_“Well, alright. Fair enough,” Newt conceded. Not that he’d had much opportunity prior, he had certainly never gotten lucky in his car, and he’d be hard pressed to try and do so now._

_“So, anyway, my point is… I hope the Witchrider is legendary enough to capture your imagination.” Anathema turned her head a bit shyly, eyes still closed._

_“Oh?” She could probably hear his heart kick up faster. “So you wouldn’t… You’d do it again?”_

_“Yeah. Felt kinda… weird at first, the pretending bit, but it was fun, you know? And I can tell you liked it a lot.”_

_Newt was glad she wasn’t looking. It felt like he was scarlet from the waist up, and he could feel his cock stirring with what could only be called polite and hopeful interest._

_“A-ah,” he tried not to exhale too harshly as her hand lazily traced a pattern down along the side of his waist. “Well, I did… enjoy it, that is.”_

_“Good. Feels nice, making someone happy.”_

_Newt wondered, with a fierce bout of protectiveness, if Agnes Nutter had ever once thought of making any of her descendents happy. “You do,” he said as fiercely as he could manage. “You do.”_


End file.
